[G] [P] 734.12.13 | Present Presents

It had not gone the way it was supposed to, and B’jin was sulking something fierce as he curled against R’nd’s side for the remainder of the Hatching, his fingers woven through those of his lover’s. It was a simple touch, but it kept the greenrider grounded as he shook his head occasionally, an unhappy frown pursing his lips and brown eyes alive with unhappy emotions. Not enough candidates, that was quite clearly the issue at present, and he was sure that S’kef would not let it happen again. Of course, B’jin was also sure the brownrider would use it to his own political advantage. The greenrider could see the unhappy faces on some of the holderfolk that had been brought in, and could hear the murmurings long before the Hatching had finished. S’kef would be a fool not to play to the advantage of the tragic deaths, but B’jin also knew the man would not see the loss as anything too dramatic. They had only been blues and greens, after all.

B’jin took a deep breath, watching as the last egg was picked up and dropped between. He could already feel some of his class looking to him, but he did not have the strength in that moment to field their questions. There would be far too many questions, and he did not have all the answers yet. He did have one, though, and he reached gently for Larrikith. Tell them to mingle with the Holders, he sighed softly, I’ll talk to them before bed, or tomorrow, after everyone has left. If they’re asked, just get them to parrot the lack of candidates as the cause. Larrikith didn’t need more prompting as she started issuing orders happily, sending their class fleeing in every which direction to latch onto the Telgarains, the Masters and the Lords and their Ladies that were spread throughout the gathering. Hopefully some of them would change their tune after seeing what a lack of Candidates could do to the baby dragons.

Or they would use it to hold over the Weyr’s head. B’jin grimaced, and set that aside. It wasn’t his place to dabble in politics anymore; the Halls wouldn’t recognise him as a  Harper after all these years, and he was naught but a greenrider to the rest of the world. Leaning up to kiss R’nd gently on the cheek, B’jin gave his hand a squeeze and met sad eyes with sad eyes before puffing out a great sigh, breathing most of it on his lover’s neck. There was nothing more to be done there, and B’jin needed a drink, something good; he was pretty sure S’kef would have secured some good booze to impress their visitors and, with that in mind, the greenrider started bee-lining for the exit, half dragging his lover along behind him.

Hardly paying any attention to those around them, content that the Weyrlings would do their part to socialise on his behalf, B’jin’s gaze slid over several faces. His pace had slowed once out of the Sands to a vague wandering towards alcohol, when he froze in spot and did a double take so fast he shoved R’nd backwards a step with his free hand. Brown eyes gawked at what he saw, fingers frozen in place – one hand woven with R’nd’s and the other resting with splayed fingers across his lover’s chest.  B’jin? the green dragon’s head lifted up from the other side of the crowd, and she tilted her head and peered towards them like a bird eyeing off a bug. B’jin did not notice, but N’mor did and began angling in the direction of his father, dragging T’ryn along with him. The young bronzerider had barely dragged his friend two feet before Rhezalth was barging in front, opening up a path for them, and leaving N’mor to throw around apologies as he picked up the pace.

His son had almost joined them, when B’jin seemed to once more regain his sense, or something, and he squealed, a very un-masculine sound of utter joy. B’jin rapidly detangled himself from R’nd, and threw himself across the space between himself and the person he had his sights set on, throwing his arms around the neck of the taller man, and clinging to him as if he thought he might vanish into a puff of smoke. Quennell just smiled, and patted B’jin’s back placidly. B’jin clung to him for several moments, before leaning backwards, cheeks tearstained, and stepped back, gently touching the old Healer’s face, brushing his fingers back through the steel grey hair, shaking his own head before grinning cheekily. Then his eyes widened and he grabbed Quennell’s hand and spun around, dragging the man (who gave a soft laugh and followed without a fight) to where R’nd was standing, the two Weyrling bronzes not far behind.

“R’nd!” he spoke his lover’s name on a gleeful sigh, and flashed him a warm grin. “This is Master Quennell!” He spoke the name as if he’d ever mentioned him to the bluerider, utterly ignorant of the fact that he’d never mentioned him before. “Sir, this is –” a slight pause followed, “R’nd, of Ayyonth,” the besotted smile he gave the bluerider told Quennell everything the lack of a title did not. B’jin bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet, not letting go of Quennell’s hand, even as he wriggled in against R’nd’s side once more.

Quennell, Retired Master Healer.

Quennell had been both surprised, and delighted, when he had been invited along to the Hatching at the newly revealed Weyr. He wasn’t quite sure why everyone else was going, but he knew exactly why he was going: to see what familiar faces he could find. The youngster that had given him a ride had clearly Impressed in the secret hideaway, and seemed unsure of what to say to an old man without any official rank. Quennell hadn’t been too fazed by that, and had indeed simply watched everything with huge and unashamedly excited expression as he took in the dragon he’d be riding on (a nice looking blue) and had stared in delight at the re-built area. They hadn’t been in the air long enough to catch more than a passing glimpse of what had once been their Weyr (he’d heard that story, mostly via the grapevine). While he would have liked to, he did not have time to ask to see it before he was being ushered into the Sands and shown to his seat before the boy was off to find someone else while eggs rocked.

He had not remembered it taking so long, though his only remembrance of Hatchings prior to that very one had been on the eve of the Plague, and so few had Hatched, or Impressed – and those who had, had succumbed quickly to the illness, that seeing the little ones die hadn’t been so shocking. He had been surprised more had not died, though it quickly became apparent by the murmurs amongst the dragonfolk that such was not the norm. ‘Too few candidates’ seemed to be the words on most lips and Quennell frowned. He had thought there were plenty of youngsters on the Sands, though he guessed that proved what he recalled of Hatchings. He would need to re-educate himself.

It was as he was mulling over this that he heard someone make a taunt, and his furrowed eyebrows were drawn to the very small woman (and he had had to squint a bit to be sure the short girl was actually an adult) who was clearly the target of the mockery. The white scars against an angry red face caused him to purse his lips, wondering what the story was there, but again his attention was demanded elsewhere before he could follow through. He hadn’t worn his knots, and was unwilling to shove himself into the healing fray of those who had been injured (nothing looked that dramatic, anyway, and Quennell specialised in different types of wounds, so why get in the way?) when the gold clearly announced the end of the Hatching by allowing the last egg to be dropped between.

He wondered for a moment why she had not done it herself, then shrugged as he was tapped lightly on the shoulder by a youngster, who asked if he would like to be shown to the post Hatching feast now. Quennell nodded, and allowed him to lead the way through the crowded Sands. They hadn’t made it far when a familiar dragon was spotted – not even all those years could wash away the sight of that dragon – and Quennell frowned at the big brown, watching as it took off, though without a rider. A quick glance around showed N’mall not far away, with a group of other brownriders. His lips pursed, Quennell wondered at the luck of the world that the questionable man would survive. He had less favourable opinions about S’kef, too, but having cleaned up the messes both men had made of his boy, Quennell did not think he would ever think much of any brownrider…


He stopped mid step, breath catching in his throat as he spotted another familiar dragon, this one a far more welcoming sight, and Quennell wondered later how he did not crumple like a delicate lady at the sight of Larrikith. Brown eyes searched the area, and he turned slowly, almost missing B’jin before darting back and watching as the greenrider exited the Sands wrapped very comfortably around another rider. Brown eyes narrowed to focus his gaze, and read the knots. A bluerider, but not ranked. Quennell rocked back on his heels and studied the pair carefully, noting with no displeasure the relaxed quality to the greenrider he remembered being round tight with fear and pain. He was not going to pass judgement yet, but the bluerider gained some points.

Then there was an ear piercing squeal and Quennell had all of a split second to balance himself before B’jin was throwing himself at him, and Larrikith was squealing in his head loud enough for the entire Weyr to hear if they were at all interested, though she wasn’t speaking a lick of sense. He patted the greenrider gently on the shoulder, feeling him tremble though not in a bad way, and smiling placidly as B’jin examined his face and tugged on a lock of his hair, before dragging him across the distance and back to the awkward looking bluerider.

Quennell noted the two young men behind them, and unlike the pair in question, did not for a moment miss the resemblance the two bore to each man, clearly their sons. His attention was – yet again – redirected for him as B’jin tugged on his hand and gushed out introductions. The hesitation before naming the bluerider caused Quennell some pause himself, wondering on the lack of title; they were clearly involved, and B’jin was clearly invested. Quennell peered down his nose at R’nd, wondering if he should retract those points, he had given him a moment before.

“I am Benjinamor’s healer,” he stated, taking pity on the confused look on the man’s face and B’jin’s euphoric silence being of no help to the bluerider. He eyed R’nd steadily, not blinking and refusing to break eye contact. “Do you take care of him?” His eyebrows arched just slightly, the question pointed. Though he did not glance away, he saw B’jin flush and squirm uncomfortably, and the flat look that fell over his son’s face. The other boy looked lost, but he was more interested in R’nd’s expression.

It had been a hard Hatching and R’nd had yet to form his own opinions on everything that had gone down outside of it being tragic. He never liked seeing a dragonet injured or worse and this Hatching was so far the worst he had ever attended. He hoped there wouldn’t be more like it in the future. Luckily, words weren’t needed to convey the pain that was shared with B’jin as he held the hand tightly to give silent support to his lover and hug him when a chance was given. He didn’t want to smother B’jin but he wanted the man to know he was there for him whenever needed.

As per their own personal tradition when tragedy struck, R’nd knew there would be alcohol in their very near future and was wondering how many bottles they could snatch and if they should stay and be social or slip off to their own quarters to console each other in private when he suddenly found himself being stopped with a slight shove. Startled grey eyes glanced first in confusion at B’jin who was frozen solid and the first thought was that S’kef or N’mall approached and were going to start trouble. Looking around, R’nd didn’t see either brownrider giving them even a lick of attention but before a question could form, B’jin was throwing himself into the arms of an older man. That wasn’t exactly something R’nd predicted would happen that night and stared at the scene in further confusion as he tried to figure out what was going on and who the man, clearly from somewhere in the North, could be.

Thankfully, B’jin finally filled in the blanks but it didn’t help R’nd all that much considering his lover that liked to skirt around details had never mentioned Quennell before. He frowned, trying in vain to figure out where the man would fit into B’jin’s past. Perhaps he was from Harper Hall. That seemed like the most logical conclusion but it was quickly forgotten as B’jin introduced him and R’nd found he had stopped breathing as he waited to hear how it would come out. When only his name and Ayyonth’s came out with no other word associated to it, nothing of claim, nothing of importance, R’nd wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He knew they had something special and typically if something became too serious in the past and possessiveness took over with someone claiming him, he panicked a bit. Now, however, he couldn’t figure out if he liked simply being R’nd of Ayyonth and nothing more. Still, the way B’jin clung to him made the confusion be shoved aside and R’nd smiled gently at B’jin.

R’nd was starting to relax until he noticed how the man was very openly judging him before he added another detail that shattered the conclusion that had been previously reached. It was odd to hear B’jin’s full name thanks to only hearing it a handful of times from a stressed Larrikith and that almost threw the bluerider off more than the rank the man possessed or the following question. Despite all the time that had passed since he had lived with his family, R’nd still maintained his manners and pulled himself together with an incline of his head in a respectful greeting since he wasn’t sure if the elderly man would take his hand, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Quennell was on him, asking a question that left R’nd’s eyes going wide. Where had that come from? Why was that the first thing that needed to be asked before even the niceties of conversation? It seemed like he really was being judged. It hurt somewhat that he was working against stereotypes whether based on being a bluerider or because he came along after N’mall but it was understandable and something he was likely going to have to get used to. “B’jin knows I have and will continue to always be here for him but as to taking care of him?” R’nd slipped his arm around the waist of his bouncy lover, “I also know he can take care of himself and I respect that.”